


kissed with his eyes closed, and only felt good while moving

by pyrality



Series: scheherazade [2]
Category: Watchmen - All Media Types
Genre: Character Study, Crimebusters Era, Established Relationship, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Non-Graphic Violence, Oral Sex, Pre-Roche, Relationship Study, Sexual Repression, handjobs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-30
Updated: 2019-05-30
Packaged: 2020-03-30 02:10:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,621
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19032601
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pyrality/pseuds/pyrality
Summary: They are floating above the humdrum of it all, like archangels casting judgment on the lives under their wings, and Rorschach knows Daniel belongs here, but he’s not sure he does or ever will.“You want a fight,” Daniel says, voice quiet, low, “but I’m not going to fight you. We spend every other waking moment of our lives battling this city and I refuse to be another person who can hurt you.”Daniel and Rorschach negotiate the spaces between them, in search of what goodness remains.





	kissed with his eyes closed, and only felt good while moving

**Author's Note:**

> a sequel to "[crash at my place, baby, you're a wreck](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17466512)" but if you don't have to read it to understand what's going on in this fic.
> 
> there's a few literary callbacks, but plotwise, all you need to know is that dan and rorschach are established but rorschach wants dan to "earn" his right to kiss him
> 
> uh sorry it took so long to finish this btw school was killing me
> 
> ***there is a very brief implied scene of attempted csa (but rorschach beats the shit out of the guy and nothing happens) and reference to rorschach's own experience of csa but it's not graphic or detailed

Dan’s willing to play the game— he’ll kiss Rorschach when the other man allows it. He suspects largely, it’s for Rorschach’s own comfort. Even if Rorschach has seemingly made some apparent peace with his attraction to men, romantic gestures like kissing can understandably be a lot to a person with as many... intimacy issues as Rorschach.

Hell, Dan figures that Nancy is a ‘confidant’ by circumstance, not because Rorschach suddenly decided to share his life story with her. He’s known Rorschach for damn near two years now and he knows nothing about him except that he has a sweet tooth, is a redhead, and is probably uncircumcised.

Anyway.

Dan admits he is a weak man and he wants nothing more than to kiss Rorschach, especially now that he’s seen the way his mouth twists when he moans and how red it gets when he bites at his lips. But he’s also a patient man, and there are other ways to occupy Dan’s own mouth.

They’re both on Archie now after a particularly thrilling and successful night. Dan wastes no time switching Archie on autopilot before he’s straddling Rorschach and knocking his hat off.

Dan tugs his cowl off and tosses it aside. He presses his forehead, heedless of his sweat-damp hair, to Rorschach’s own and watches as black ink rushes up to respond to the pressure.

“Couldn’t wait til I could get my hands on you.”

“Dangerous to be  _distracted_ , Daniel,” Rorschach rumbles, but he doesn’t sound terribly put-upon so Dan decides to press his luck.

He hooks his finger into the v of Rorschach’s trench coat and thumbs the first button open, grinning as he runs the other hand through his messy hair. He feels positively elated honestly. Their relationship is still new, just a month or so in, and yes, Dan hasn’t kissed him yet, but it doesn’t matter. He’ll wait as long as it takes.

Rorschach pushes his hands away and works through the buttons on his trench coat, leather-gloved fingers working with practiced ease. He lets Dan spread the trench coat open to reveal his vest, suit, and pinstripes underneath. He rumbles, a low noise in his throat as Dan palms at his chest through his clothes.

“Seems unbalanced,” Rorschach mutters, shifting in his seat.

“You can return the favor after, buddy,” Dan grins, pressing his teeth to the latex still stretched over his jaw, relishing in the feel of stubble just beneath the surface.

Rorschach snorts, but the tension eases out of his frame a little. Dan keeps squeezing over his chest, feeling a little thrilled the lean muscle he feels underneath his clothes. He’s seen the man shirtless before— to stitch wounds— but it’s still different to touch him like this. He rubs the pads of his thumbs over his nipples, thinking, absently, he’d like to put his mouth on him here too. But that’s not the goal tonight. Rorschach squirms a little under the pressure, growling.

“Sorry,” Dan says, completely unapologetic.

He slips off of his lap and presses his hands over Rorschach’s thighs, easing them open as he gets down on his knees. Rorschach probably blanches under the mask because suddenly the ink on his latex skin parts to the fringes, leaving his mask nearly all white.

“ _No_.”

“Okay,” Dan says immediately, pulling his hands back and holding them up placatingly. “You okay, buddy?”

Rorschach shifts, his arousal visibly fading as he flexes his fingers and fidgets. “Fine. Don’t feel comfortable with this arrangement. Feels unbalanced. View our partnership as one of equal footing and view  _this_... the same way.”

“Ah. But it’s not like you’re forcing me to?”

“No. Would never force you to do anything.” Rorschach turns his head. “Just don’t like to see you on your knees for me, Daniel.”

“Gotcha,” he says easily, standing up and backing up to give his partner space.

This runs much deeper, and he knows that. It’s something they’ll have to unpack eventually but Dan doesn’t mind waiting to talk about it. But he  _would_ like it if Rorschach didn’t disappear to brood only to show up a month later on his doorstep half-dead and bleeding.

“Hey, we’re good, right?”

Rorschach tilts his head.

“I mean, no running, yeah?” He keeps his tone light, easy, as he continues, “Like you best when all your blood is inside your body, partner.”

Rorschach tenses before huffing, sounding indignant. It’s a little cute. Dan bites his lip to keep from smiling and/or saying so out loud. The “Terror of the Underworld” probably wouldn’t appreciate being called cute after all.

“Right where I want to be, Daniel.”  
  
  
  
~*~  
  
  
  
To his relief, Rorschach chooses to stay the night.

Dan privately considers his guest bedroom Rorschach’s home away from home, even if his partner never lingers for more than a night. He’s only stayed over about four times in the past month, but that’s more than he would have in the past. Baby steps; Dan’s nothing if not patient.

He switches the shower on and lets out a sigh of relief as hot water beats down over his head and shoulders, sluicing down his back. Nothing stopping him from relieving his lingering arousal, but… well, even if it wasn’t his fault, making Rorschach uncomfortable earlier still makes him feel a little guilty. He hustles himself out of the shower and pads to the kitchen.

Rorschach looks up from his coffee cup when Dan enters. His mask is pushed up to his nose, mouth as severe of a line as ever. Dan still wants to kiss it.

“Shower’s yours if you want it.”

“Hrm.”

Dan rifles through his own fridge for some of the chocolate cake he knows is left from his trip to the bakery yesterday. He hums to himself as he grabs the plate. Maybe Rorschach will appreciate—

He turns around and nearly drops the plate when he finds Rorschach standing right behind him, head tilted as if curious.

“Jesus  _christ_.”

“Still Jewish, Daniel,” Rorschach says, some humor in his rough voice.

“How are you so quiet?”

“Not that quiet, Daniel. Need to work on your senses more.”

“My senses are fine!”

Rorschach is half a foot shorter than him, but still intimidating nonetheless. His baggy trench coat hides a toned, if thin, physique. Dan has admittedly wondered, on more than one occasion, how it would feel to be bodily pinned down by the man, manhandled roughly like a criminal. But that would probably scandalize Rorschach to hear about that particular fantasy. Among others.

“Daniel,” Rorschach murmurs, and there’s  _something_ in his voice, unidentifiable but maybe warm, Dan thinks.

There are goosebumps on Dan’s arms that have nothing to do with the cool air of the fridge on his skin.

“Didn’t put on your cologne and aftershave.”

Dan blinks. “Uh, it’s like 3 a.m. I wasn’t planning on going anywhere.”

“Wear cologne to impress people?”

“I like smelling nice?”

Dan wonders if Rorschach is jealous for a second before his partner steps forward and tugs Dan closer with a gloved hand on his t-shirt. He curls the other hand around the back of his neck, rough leather against the fringe of his hair. Rorschach presses his nose to where Dan’s neck meets the curve of his shoulder and inhales deep.

Oh.

Dan swallows and he’s sure his face is flushed when Rorschach pulls back and looks up at him.

“Rorschach, I…”

The mask leans close again and Dan wonders if he’s going to kiss him but then he hears the fridge swing shut behind him. Rorschach must have pulled the handle with the hand behind his neck. He stares down dumbly at Rorschach, who seems, for all the world,  _amused_.

“Going to catch flies if you leave mouth open, Daniel.”

Rorschach takes the cake from him and lets go of his shirt with an incline of his head, like he’s saying thank you. He’s still gaping as Rorschach snatches a fork from the dish rack and sits down, completely nonchalant when Dan’s almost certain the man knows what effect he just had on him.

“Oh, you don’t get to just  _do_ that and then just—”

Dan grabs his shoulders and he tenses under his grip, but doesn’t move. Dan groans a little as he slips a hand under his trench coat and presses it over his chest. His heart is hammering under his palm as Dan noses at his ear. He smells like blood, sweat, leather, and ozone, and Dan’s well aware he probably shouldn’t find those combination of smells appealing, but he likes it anyway.

“Daniel.”

Dan traces his mouth down the side of Rorschach’s jaw, revels in the rough scratch of his stubble against his lips. He moves his other hand from his shoulder to grasp over Rorschach’s throat loosely and shivers when he feels the man’s throat work in a swallow.

“When are you going to let me kiss you?”

Rorschach huffs, but doesn’t pull away from him. “Asking same question over and over proving fruitless, Daniel. Need to be more circuitous.”

Before Dan can reply, Rorschach is moving and suddenly he finds himself bodily pressed back against the fridge again with the man’s hands on his hips. He can feel that Rorschach’s hard against his thigh, even through the layers of his trench coat and pinstripes. His breath hitches and he can’t help the grin from spreading across his face. Rorschach’s own mouth is set now in a severe line, ink swirling and parting where his mask is still drawn over his cheeks. It probably tastes like latex and sweat and Dan wants to push his mouth against it anyway.

Rorschach inclines his head to the side, thoughtful, and Dan wants to ask what he could be thinking so hard about but then he’s pressing Dan against the fridge harder. Dan throws his head back against cold metal with a breathless and warm half-gasp, half-laugh as Rorschach presses a hand over him through his sweats. He squeezes lazily before trailing his knuckles along the underside.

“Filthy,” he growls. “Just showered and here you are, Daniel, about to dirty yourself again.”

Dan groans a little and laughs, wondering dizzily, if he should tell Rorschach that he’s really good at dirty talking, even if Dan’s pretty sure that’s not his intention. He’s not sure on where Rorschach currently stands on the topic of hellfire and blasphemy with regards to sex though, so he thinks he’ll table that discussion for now. He rolls his hips into Rorschach’s hand and moans when he pumps him tighter in response, the rough grind of his boxers against his cock good but not good enough.

“Rorschach,  _please_.”

The man tenses before he pulls his hand away. Dan’s about to whine before he chokes on it when he sees Rorschach starting to tug a glove off with his teeth. He has enough blood left in his brain to think fast and grab Rorschach’s wrist, stopping him. He tilts his head at him, as if judging, but Dan grins because he can’t hide the way the ink curls over his cheeks and the curve of his ears. He grinds his thigh against Rorschach’s dick and gives his best charming smile.

Rorschach jerks against his thigh, a soft moan as he ruts harder into him. “Daniel,” he says, something wrecked and warm and almost reverent in his voice. “Want me to defile you. Shouldn’t want these things, not from a man like me. Deserve better.”

Before Dan can respond, indignant, Rorschach reaches into his sweats and grips him tight, rough and worn leather cool against his cock and he bucks his head back against the fridge again. Rorschach jerks him a little uncertainly, too gentle (so gentle for such a rough man, borne of blood and bone and cold asphalt). But the leather against his skin is good— really good, and it ends with Dan gasping and shuddering into his hand after just a few strokes.

Rorschach pulls back as Dan catches his breath, pulling his glove up to inspect it, quiet. Cum trails down his finger and Dan laughs, feeling dizzy and ecstatic. He snatches Rorschach’s wrist again and licks the splatter of cum off his fingers. Rorschach is frozen, shellshocked— if Dan had to guess— and he pulls his hand away from him with an embarrassed growl.

Dan’s legs feel a little shaky but he stumbles forward and snatches Rorschach’s wrist. “Wait, let me—”

“No.”

His body is still turned away from Dan, but he doesn’t pull his arm away. His shoulders are tense, raised, and Dan thinks he can spy the barest shiver running down his spine under the protective layers and barriers of his trench coat and suit. Such a strong man, prayers offered from chapped lips, a mouth that speaks no obscenities. Dan wants nothing more than to worship him but he’ll wait until Rorschach can breathe without the stones in his lungs and guilt in his stomach.

“Rorschach,” Dan breathes, rubbing his thumb over his wrist, over where his pulse is thundering under his thin pale skin. “You don’t want me to?”

“Daniel, hnnk…,” his voice is coarse, embarrassed, maybe even afraid. “Shouldn’t.”

And then it hits Dan— Rorschach  _does_ want. He wants for so much and the magnitude of his desire scares him. For a multitude of reasons, perhaps his lingering self-loathing, his internalized homophobia. Maybe he is fearful of how the strange too close amity he’s always had with Dan has changed to be even more private and intimate. He feels like an idiot for not having realized sooner, being so self-absorbed in his own affections for the man. It’s easier for him because he’s always had an inkling of his interest in men and working alongside Rorschach only solidified his suspicion. Not to mention, Hollis was open about sexuality, telling him before about Silhouette and Gretchen. And while he has never said anything to him about Byron, but Dan has always known that Hollis cares for his former partner romantically, has seen glimpses of small moments of intimacy between the two men as Hollis helps with Byron’s sobriety.

He paces closer to Rorschach, hand still clasped around his wrist. He presses his other hand gently over his back and he can feel the flex of his bony shoulder blades beneath his fingers. Rorschach turns his head just barely to look at him, and his jaw is clenched tight like the fists at his sides. Dan murmurs something, an adoration he thinks, and presses his forehead to Rorschach’s. He lets go of his wrist to cup a hand along his cheek, thumb trailing along a sharp cheekbone as he breathes out, awe and reverence.

“Daniel,” Rorschach says, and he sounds like he’s damned, like there’s no good endings for people like him. “Too good for this.”

“Don’t say that.”

“Needs to be said.” And his voice is low, almost too quiet to hear as he turns his body to face him fully. “Could, nnh... have anyone, Daniel.”

“Well, I want you,” Dan says, cupping his other hand around the back of Rorschach’s head. His grip is firm so that the man doesn’t pull away because there are many things that Dan can lose in his line of work, but this softness, this kindness, this goodness is not one of them. “I want my partner.”

“Everything ends, Daniel.”

Dan stares at him, disbelieving. He swallows around the anger, not at Rorschach, but at what’s happened to make him so fiercely loyal to the idea that he doesn’t deserve good things. “I’m not going to change my mind about you.”

Rorschach makes a low sound, like a wounded animal.

Dan tugs him into a hug, one hand still wrapped firmly behind the back of his head, pressing Rorschach’s face into his shoulder. He breathes deep, eyes closed, and revels when Rorschach doesn’t push him away or snap at him and instead slowly relaxes under his grip like he’s suddenly very tired. Dan can feel Rorschach’s hand fist into the back of his sweatshirt, clutching him close.

“Too soft, Nite Owl. Will be the death of you.”  
  
  
  
~*~  
  
  
  
Rorschach is gone by the time he wakes.

The blanket is pulled roughly over the bed, like he was in a hurry to leave, but didn’t want to be discourteous. Dan keeps his hands in the pockets of his sweats, sighing softly as he sweeps his gaze over the room. Nothing else is out of place. The curtains are still drawn, a sliver of light dancing over the rumpled sheets and Dan wonders, briefly, if they smell like him.

He flushes at the thought and turns away, pulling the door shut behind him.  
  
  
  
~*~  
  
  
  
Rorschach doesn’t want to haunt Daniel’s basement door— he is not a lonely ghost or a stray dog. Instead, he goes out on patrol, prowling through areas he knows they both frequent. His gaze is turned skywards when he knows he’s alone, scanning for the shadowy underbelly of Archie flying overhead, shrouded by soft white clouds. He’s still looking to the sky, like a man praying, when he’s startled by a flicker of darkness haloed by moonlight in the corner of his vision.

Dan lands in front of him, light on his feet, cape billowing out behind him like wings. He straightens up, goggles glimmering in the muddy yellow light of a nearby streetlamp, and his lips are curved in a smile and Rorschach wants to kiss him.

“Hi,” Dan says, and he sounds abashed, almost. “Sorry I’m late.”

“Nite Owl.”

He advances on Daniel and hates that the man doesn’t so much as flinch as he steps into his space. He presses a palm along the flat of his stomach through the spandex, thumb curling along the dip of the v in his hips. Daniel twitches under his touch now, sucking in a breath and laughing a little, the sound embarrassed and flattered.

“Hey, buddy,” he says softly, conspiratorial almost. “Something on your mind?”

“Daniel.” Rorschach scrapes his nail lightly along that dip and the muscles in Daniel’s stomach jump as he twitches again. “Skin-tight suit. Body practically laid bare for everyone to see.”

Dan’s smiling and there’s a flush rising on his cheeks, under the line of his cowl. “I think you’re my only admirer, Rorschach.”

Rorschach growls, hates the surge of heat that bears down low in him at the fond intimacy in Daniel’s voice. “Indecent.”

“You’ve never complained before.”

 _Not mine before,_ Rorschach wants to say, but he bites his tongue.

He looks up at Dan, thinks he can see the softness in his eyes even behind the dark goggles. Dan’s lips curve just barely upwards, and he is struck with a terrible need— he wants, desperately, to kiss him. He can’t— shouldn’t— he would be tainting Daniel and Daniel… Daniel’s too  _good_ for that—

Suddenly, Daniel’s thumb is tracing the line of his lower lip through the latex mask. He curls his other fingers along the line of his jaw, like he’s not afraid of sharp edges, of cutting his skin open on jagged steel. He tilts his head, mouth falling open just barely.

“Rorschach.” He lets out a shaky breath and Rorschach can feel how much he wants for in the spaces between his breaths. “Stay.”

“Right where I want to be, Daniel,” he says, echoing what he has said time and time again. He wonders when Daniel will believe him. When he’ll believe it himself with the same conviction.

Daniel bumps his forehead to Rorschach’s. He breathes out another shaky breath and he can feel how warm it is even through the mask, which darkens under the heat.

“You’re a force of nature,” he says, and it is with such horrible reverence.

And then Daniel laughs, pulling back and just like that, the tension is broken and there’s an easy comfort in the way their bodies are too close together in the cold of the night.  
  
  
  
~*~  
  
  
  
New York City is as loud and chaotic as ever. There is no such thing as a quiet night.

Daniel keeps him tempered; as soft as he accuses the man of being, Rorschach does not want to lose the last vestiges of his humanity here on these streets. His body speaks of violence, a fluent language with practiced cadence. His body is a weapon, one used to deal justice and protect the innocent and vulnerable. He and Daniel always return to the ship with blood dripping off of their knuckles and under their boots. But he wants this city to heal, to see blood finally drain clean off neon-lit streets, and for the wounds to scab over until they fade. Most nights he thinks it is still possible for such a future.

Some nights, this is not the case.

He and Daniel split off to catch the stragglers. As he is cuffing the unconscious man to the fence, he hears terrified crying, the sound of clothes being ripped, a boy screaming no—

Rorschach is moving, fast, and he gets his hands on the man towering over the small child.

And then the rest is violence.

He forgets exactly what happens in the next few minutes, and he comes out of his furious haze only when Daniel shouts his name as he catches his wrist.

“Rorschach,” Daniel says, softer now. “Jesus, you’re scaring him.”

Rorschach looks up from the man he has beaten into bloody unconsciousness, blood dripping off of his leather-worn knuckles, to the boy with ripped clothes cowering nearby, still sniffling. His grip loosens and the man drops to the pavement with a wet, dull thud.

“Hey,” Daniel says gently to the boy, crouching down in front of him. “You’re okay. What’s your name?”

The boy looks up and he has a bruise on his cheek and tears staining his pale skin. His blonde hair is matted in spots with blood. He sniffles and his voice is quiet and scratchy when he speaks.

“Walter…”

Rorschach stiffens. He looks down at the man on the ground, face beaten and swollen to the point of unrecognizability. But he’ll heal one day, and then he might try and put his hands on another child. He should kill him, he thinks, but Rorschach does not want to lose that humanity, the part of him that’s still good enough for Daniel. He will break every bone in his body and that will have to do. So he grabs the man by his wrist and drags him towards the other end of the alleyway. Daniel makes an exasperated noise and shifts in the way of the boy’s view so he can’t see him.

He returns after a few minutes to find Daniel holding the boy carefully in his arms, a soothing hand on his back. The boy has not seen him yet, and Daniel gives him a look from underneath his goggles. He understands.

So Rorschach paces back to Archie and waits inside while Daniel drops the boy off at a battered women and children’s shelter nearby. Daniel returns, stepping into the ship. Rorschach keeps his head turned away. There’s a stretching silence before Daniel lets out a soft breath and paces to the pilot’s seat. He is going to take them home. The night is still young and it is far earlier than when they would normally retire from their skulking shadowed activities, but neither of them are in the mood for anything more the city has to offer tonight.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Daniel asks finally, and his voice is rough, quiet, and apologetic all at once.

Rorschach wishes Daniel hadn’t seen the real ugly violence that sits deep inside his bones. Hates it more that Daniel doesn’t seem to think anything less of him for it. Understands it, even if he doesn’t approve of the bones broken and blood spilled on cold black asphalt.

“No.”

Daniel lets out a sharp breath. “Okay—”

“Cannot abide by men like that.” He closes his eyes under the mask. “Have, ehn… personal reasons.”

“Oh,” Daniel says, softly.

“Wanted to kill him.”

“But you didn’t.”

“No. Didn’t.”

“Why?”

He doesn’t answer and Daniel makes a soft noise and flicks a switch on the console. The silence is deafening. The only sound that fills the air and the spaces between them is the hum of Archie’s soft rumbling engine. The dark city looms beneath them, a midnight blanket illuminated by glimmering fairy lights, by windows shaded and silhouetted by the soft yellow glow of lamplights, gaslights, and fireplaces. The wet and cold asphalt of the city reflects back flickering neons signs. They are floating above the humdrum of it all, like archangels casting judgment on the lives under their wings, and Rorschach knows Daniel belongs here, but he’s not sure he does or ever will.

“Sorry, we don’t have to talk about—”

“Wanted to be better. For you.”

Daniel lets out an explosive breath, a shudder rolling down in his spine. “Oh, Rorschach.”

“ _Don’t_ , Daniel. Don’t want  _pity_ —”

But then Daniel is out of the chair, tugging his cowl off and boxing him in with hands on either side of the armrests. He pins Rorschach with a look and he doesn’t know quite what it means, but he does know a challenge when he sees one. He surges up against Daniel, and it feels less like anger and more like wanting. He hates himself for this, for how fucked up he is, for how he can’t just be a normal man that Daniel can want without complications.

One hand over his chest, the spandex doing nothing to conceal how warm his skin is beneath it, or how fast his heart is pounding. He fists the other hand in Daniel’s soft curls and pushes. Daniel lets himself be shoved against the console. He is not afraid of the violence they both know Rorschach is capable of and that tears something raw inside of him.

Daniel tilts his head down, against the pull of Rorschach’s grip. His brown eyes are soft, even as the line of his mouth is severe. Rorschach wants the press of warm lips instead of having to find the words for an apology.

He flinches when Daniel reaches a hand up and curls it along his cheek, as tender as ever.

“You want a fight,” Daniel says, voice quiet, low, “but I’m not going to fight you. We spend every other waking moment of our lives battling this city and I refuse to be another person who can hurt you.”

Rorschach feels like his defenses are crumbling under Daniel’s words so he lets go and pushes away, turning from him. He’s tired. He wants to go back to his own apartment, the one that is disgusting and too loud and uncomfortable. It keeps him from getting too soft, like Daniel.  
  
  
  
~*~  
  
  
  
Nancy sits down on the park bench, humming a soft tune to herself. She sets the plastic bag by her thigh and pulls out a small pouch of seeds. The birds start to congregate almost immediately when she tosses a handful onto the ground, chirping happily. She holds an arm up and a crow swoops down to perch on her forearm. She inclines her head towards the black bird and it caws gently and bows its head to her.

“I don’t usually see you here,” she says, kindly, as she keeps her attention on the crow.

Rorschach grunts from where he’s sitting on the other side of the park bench, one seat left in between them. He leans back in the seat, one hand on the armrest, fingers tapping against cold, worn metal, and the other placed on the scuffed wood of the bench. His gaze falls on the pedestrians on the street, watching them as they drift by, always going and then gone.

“Know I have been out of contact. Wanted to check in.”

She lowers her arm and the crow flutters off, doing a swoop in the air before diving down to join the congregation of birds on the ground.

He clears his throat, gruff. “Hope you are well.”

“I am.” She sounds just the barest hint amused on top of her normal, calm wistfulness. She tosses another sprinkle of seeds and keeps her gaze on the birds. “How are you?”

Rorschach ducks his head, pushes his scarf up as though he is burrowing in against the slight chill in the air. “Fine.”

“Good.”

She doesn’t press him further. Nancy is patient and she is familiar with his routines, his quirks, his neuroses. She knows when to push and when to offer a silent invitation. If Daniel is made of fire, steel, softness, and bone, then Nancy is made of olive branches, cinnamon and nutmeg, and clean water. He does not think he deserves either of them, but they remain, unmoving, like statues, in the fixtures of his life.

“Should wash his hands of this.”

Nancy does not respond immediately. She leans forward, resting her forearms on top of her thighs. “Of you?”

“Yes,” he says, and it feels like the word is punched out of him.

“Why?”

Daniel once told him he thought Rorschach was exceptionally eloquent— that he thought his words were like rough-hewn, knotted poetry. He saw in Rorschach’s journal the simple and honest intimacy he has with this battle-torn city. Words that describe how the war against crime never stops, never sleeps. In the unseen margins, Daniel fails to read that Rorschach has stalked these streets long enough to see his visage reflected in broken glass and blood puddles and know he is among the damned.

(Rorschach wonders, briefly, if Daniel kisses like he fights.)

“Know why, Nancy.”

Nancy shakes her head. She finally turns to look at him now and presses a finger to the hollow of her throat, under the silver scar of her neck. “I have physical scars for what I’ve been through.” Her eyes are warm. She traces her finger over the scar slowly. “But I am not unwanted for it. You don’t have those visible scars, but he sees them. And he wants you anyway.”

He doesn’t answer— can’t— his mouth is suddenly dry. He looks away, a gruff noise stuck in his throat. He spies Nancy still watching him from the corner of his eye. She lets out a soft breath through her nose and reaches up to tuck her hair behind her ear. She leans back down, resting one forearm back over her thigh. She hooks the fingers of her other hand around the bag straps and holds it up and out across the seat to him.

“Don’t need it.”

She sets the plastic bag down by his thigh anyway, ignoring him. He’d been able to smell it even across the bench when she had first arrived; it’s warm curry from Gunga Diner, and he can smell the sweet scent of jasmine rice under the rich aromas of spice and greasy chicken. He hasn’t eaten much over the past few days. Daniel is always willing to feed him, but he does not want to be near the man right now. He is too vulnerable right now, the thing in his chest scrubbed raw, and something fearfully powerful taking its place.  
  
  
  
~*~  
  
  
  
Rorschach has been keeping to himself for the next few days, and in the spaces between, Dan’s brain and libido give him some interesting fever dreams.

He wakes up feeling flushed and embarrassed, and shakes his head as though it will clear the thoughts from his head. Dan puts his face in his hands, his cheeks warm under his fingers, and takes deep breaths until the fake sense-memory of Rorschach touching him in his dreams fades from his skin.  
  
  
  
~*~  
  
  
  
He runs into Rorschach that night on patrol. He knows it’s meant to read as a happy coincidence but he also knows Rorschach rarely intends for accidents and things outside of his control.

(Which, in retrospect, is probably why he struggles so much with this relationship or whatever it is or isn’t.)

“Nite Owl,” he says, with a polite tip of his head in greeting.

All it does is make Dan want to press him up against the closest wall and tilt his head up to kiss his mouth underneath the layer of inky latex. He wishes it wasn’t so hard for Rorschach. Then again, what did he expect going into this? A normal relationship? They fight crime in the middle of the night until the early hours of the morning. Dan dresses up in brown spandex and an owl-themed cowl and it apparently scares the shit out of criminals. He never wanted normal in his life— only feels alive at the thrill of adventure and danger, and Rorschach fits into this perfectly.

Dan steps closer and Rorschach’s frame tenses minutely before he tilts his head up, squaring his shoulders, as if daring— challenging— Dan to say something.

“I dream about you.”

Rorschach stiffens in surprise, like he wasn’t expecting Dan to call his bluff. Dan wants to smooth his hands over Rorschach’s shoulders and down his back and hug him close, until he can feel the thundering in Rorschach’s chest against his own.

“Not something to be fixed, Nite Owl,” he rumbles, and there is something terrible in his voice.

“I’m leaving it well enough alone, buddy.” He feels tired suddenly. Dan pushes his goggles up and grinds the heels of his palms into his eyes. “Is it not enough? Would you tell me if it was? If it wasn’t?”

Rorschach stays silent, even after Dan drops his hands from his eyes and fixes his gaze on him. The ink curls and blooms and parts in constant motion. He is his real self when he has his mask on, his “true face”, and only feels good while moving.

“Shouldn’t dawdle,” he says finally, turning on his heel, stuffing his hands into his pockets. “Criminals need punishing.”

Dan watches Rorschach walk away from him, sure-footed, back straight and shoulders hunched forward against the cold night wind.  
  
  
  
~*~  
  
  
  
Rorschach hefts the submachine gun up, head tilted as he inspects it. The sleek black metal glints under the filter of moonlight coming down through the windows above. It feels heavy in his hands, even though it is a small thing, compared to other guns he’s had to handle before. He runs the fingers of his other hand along the curve of the drum magazine.

“More than just Tommy guns in here,” Dan says, peering into another wooden crate. “Looks like World War I and II weapons. A Sturmgewehr 44, I think?”

Rorschach clicks his tongue. “Never liked firearms,” he says, setting the gun back in into the crate carefully. “Mass murder machines. Just as effective as the biological weapons outlawed in the Geneva Protocol.”

“In 1925,” Dan says faintly. He sounds ill. He picks up a gun himself to inspect it. It has a drum mag on the top with an elongated barrel and bipod attachments. “Lewis gun. This is horrific— how did they smuggle this in?”

He despairs Dan’s naïvety; while most of their time is spent fighting petty criminals and katieheads, it’s not as though the more lethal variety of criminals have been completely weeded out. Rorschach shakes his head to himself as he detaches the magazine from the gun before tossing both aside in separate directions. He picks up another gun and repeats the process. He doesn’t know when the police will respond to their call and it’s better that the guns are empty when they get here, in case they’re interrupted by the owners of this shipment.

“Likely Underboss. Fair chance there are other warehouses. Not so stupid as to put all his guns in one basket.”

Dan puts his hands on either side of the crate, leaning his weight against it. “Right. We got our work cut out for us then. Let’s hope the police get here soon and quarantine this—”

Just as the words leave his mouth, there’s the sound of the doors on either side of the warehouse being kicked in. Rorschach whips his gaze up as he lowers his stance and gauges how many there are. At least a dozen on either side, wielding assault rifles as they charge in, yelling.

Rorschach feels his lips curl into a frustrated snarl as he snatches a smaller gun from the crates and clicks the safety off as he rolls away from the first barrage of gunfire from the criminals. He ducks behind cover and pulls out his grappling hook, readying it. He can spy Dan out of the corner of his eye throwing down smoke as he also dives for cover. Dan throws up three fingers for him to see— he’s going to use the tear gas then and wants Rorschach to stay clear. Dan slips on his gas mask as he pulls a small capsule from his belt.

 _Stupid, careless_ , he thinks as he sets the grappling hook down to load the pistol he grabbed earlier. Should have known it was a setup. It made no sense why the warehouse was so lightly guarded when it contained this many weapons. He hears the sound of the gas bomb deploying and the sound of Daniel’s cape fluttering as he leaps into the fray. That’s his signal.

Rorschach fires his grapple up at the steel rafters and swings, well above the plume of tear gas spreading from the other side of the warehouse. He loathes guns, but that doesn’t mean he’s not practiced using them. He fires as he flies through the air, aiming for the shoulders. He hits seven of his nine shots, emptying the mag. He tosses the gun as he lands on the other side of the warehouse. He fires his grapple at the nearest thug from behind cover. It burrows into his arm and Rorschach revels in the scream he gives when he retracts the grapple, ripping it out of his flesh.

“You’re gonna pay for that, you fucking freak!” Another one of them shouts as his teammate falls, cradling the gushing wound in his arm.

Rorschach snorts to himself. If he were a harder man, he would just kill them. He has plenty of tools at his disposal to do so, but no, he won’t. He will be tempered and he will be controlled. He spies a crowbar on the ground. He is born of violence, but he thinks of second chances as he presses his hand to the cold asphalt of the ground. He decides he will be merciful.

He blazes through the remaining six or seven criminals still remaining, firing wildly as he sweeps from cover to cover, trench coat fluttering behind him. He can hear Dan on the other side of the warehouse, the sound of gunfire and bodies hitting the floor amidst choking and screaming. He smiles to himself as he swings the crowbar at the last one’s knee, satisfied by the loud crack of bone that rings out as he screams and falls to the ground. The smoke is clearing on Daniel’s side, showing his partner standing alone, victorious amidst the bodies, splatters of blood on his cape and dripping from his knuckles.

He looks over at Rorschach and although he can’t see his face under the gas mask he’s wearing, he knows the man must be smiling.

They meet each other halfway. Rorschach sticks his hands into his pockets and watches as Dan slips his gas mask off and sure enough, reveals a grin.

“That was a lot, but I gotta say, feels good that we handled it so well.”

“Mm.”

Daniel suddenly tenses, grabbing his arms, mouth open to shout something as he shoves Rorschach to the side.

And then there’s the sound of a gunshot and blood is spurting out of Daniel’s shoulder.

Rorschach is moving before he can think twice. He snatches a discarded drum mag from the ground before whipping around. His eyes land on the man on the ground, one hand clutching his side and the other hand shakily aiming the pistol at them still. He curls his arm around behind Daniel’s waist, steadying the mask as he lobs the drum mag like a boomerang at the criminal. It nails him along the temple, knocking him out cold. The pistol clatters from his hand.

“Daniel,” Rorschach hears himself say, pressing his other hand to the other man’s chest to steady him. He can hear the fear in his own voice. “ _Daniel_.”

“M’fine. Knicked my shoulder,” he manages to gasp out. The wound is on the upper part of his shoulder, deeper than just a graze, but not deep enough to hit bone. Blood is still spilling out of it, thin trails of red against dark brown spandex. “Okay.”

“Need to get out now,” Rorschach says, gaze flickering around for movement. “Could be reinforcements soon.”

He doesn’t say what else he is thinking— that the police might arrive finding them vulnerable and take this opportunity to ascertain their identities while they’re cornered. Hollis Mason was a cop after all, and Daniel has always been too soft on them. Rorschach trusts them to arrest the criminals they leave behind, and nothing more.

“You were pretty handy back there,” Daniel wheezes a little. “With the gun.”

“Practiced before.”

He had grown up idolizing the Silhouette, known for her use of machine pistols. He doesn’t know how to feel about her today, amidst the truth of her sexuality, her horrific murder, and the legacy of justice that she left behind and what it means for him. But that’s not important right now.

“My fault,” Rorschach growls to himself as he pulls Daniel’s other arm over around his shoulder. “Cost you.”

“S’okay.”

“ _No_ , Daniel, it—”

The man should not make excuses for him. He likely saved Rorschach’s life without thinking twice. It makes him feel vulnerable in a terrible way. Daniel would have done the same regardless of whether or not their partnership had taken a more intimate turn, and that strikes a deep fear in his heart. Daniel should never be soiled in his own blood. He is too good for that. Too good to die at the hands of scum like this.

Daniel leans his weight heavier against Rorschach. “Are you still mad at me?” he asks, and his voice is quiet, low.

“Wish you would fight me,” he says before he can hold himself back. “Would see then why you shouldn’t want this.”

“I’ve spent too long wanting you to keep getting told that, buddy.”

Rorschach breathes in sharp, feels like he’s going to be sick from the sudden heavy feeling in his gut. “Nite Owl—”

“No, no, c’mon.” Daniel pushes against him. He’s taller and stronger than Rorschach and the suddenness of his movement catches him off guard. He presses Rorschach against the wall, grip strong and pressure firm despite the wound still oozing blood from his shoulder. His teeth are gritted in pain from the exertion and his voice is rough when he speaks. “Don’t freeze me out like that, Rorschach. I mean it.”

“Daniel. Could have died.”

“I’m fine,” Daniel huffs, even as his jaw clenches harder when he moves his shoulder. “Rorschach. Tell me your name.”

“Ask for things you know I won’t give.”

“Please,” Daniel breathes, and he can feel the other man’s warm breath fanning over his face through the mask.

He is weak for the man. The man bleeds for him, spills wine over his fingers.

“Walter.”

“The boy’s name,” he says in realization, breath coming out in a rush. There is a terrible softness in his voice, a terrible reverence. “Oh, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize,” Rorschach growls, putting pressure on the wound. Blood spills over rough leather, stained in the cracks. “Need to get out of here, Daniel.”

He leans forward, startling him. He noses the edge of the cowl against Rorschach’s cheek. The action is clumsy with how Daniel sways a little, but so full of fondness and affection that Rorschach feels like he can’t breathe.

“Walter,” he says, as though he is testing how the name feels on his tongue. “ _Walter_.”  
  
  
  
~*~  
  
  
  
Rorschach stands with his hands in his pockets in the ruins of an old and familiar church.

He looks up at the remnants on the burnt cross on the front and feels, blissfully, nothing.  
  
  
  
~*~  
  
  
  
Dan wakes slowly, blearily, to the sensation of pain and burning along the top of his shoulder. He winces at the feeling of the dressing rubbing against the stitches when he tries to roll over. He lies back down instead and looks around, blinking to clear the spots in his vision. He can’t see clearly without his glasses, but he recognizes the smudged shapes to be his bedroom.

Rorschach must have taken him back— no—  _Walter_ took him back.

Dan feels his lips curl up in a smile at that, giddy almost with this intimate knowledge. He shifts carefully and turns his gaze to the window. The curtains are drawn, but it looks like it must already be the afternoon, judging by the bright light shimmering through the folds. He’s sore and wonders vaguely if the man of the hour is still here, but it’s a weekday and he is likely at his day job.

Dan huffs and tells himself to stop being petulant. Of course Rorschach can’t just wait on him. He has other things to worry about and judging by how tight and thorough the stitches in his shoulder feels, he must have spent a very long time treating his bullet wound last night.

He manages to stop pitying himself enough to putter around the house. He washes himself off with a towel in the sink and then makes his way downstairs for food. He opens the fridge and stops, shocked.

Eggs and pancakes have already been cooked and are sitting pretty on a plate in his fridge, saran-wrapped with a post-it note tucked underneath. The note has nothing on it except for Rorschach’s two Rs signature. It makes Dan smile anyway. He did get hit on his right shoulder, so he figures Rorschach didn’t want him to strain his wound doing chores while he was gone.

He must have dozed off again at some point after eating lunch because when he wakes again, it is to the press of a hand to his forehead. He startles a little and Rorschach pulls his hand away, tugging his gloves back on. It looks like a different pair; worn as well, but a slightly different shade.

“No fever.” His voice is a low rasp that makes Dan shiver. He flexes his fingers in the confines of his gloves before tucking his hand into his pockets. “Sorry to have woken you.”

“Thanks,” he swallows, decides to say fuck it and just go for it, “Walter.”

Rorschach tenses and turns his head away. The mask darkens over his cheeks. “Daniel.”

Dan reaches out, touches his elbow through the trench coat. Rorschach doesn’t pull away, but he doesn’t look at him either.

“Hey. Do you think what we do is good?”

Rorschach seems surprised by his question. He makes a quiet noise in his throat. “Born of violence, but yes.”

“You don’t think there’s good endings for people like us.”

It’s not a question.

“Have had to keep my distance with you, Daniel,” Rorschach says, and his voice is very quiet. “Nearly lost Nancy once. Afraid to make the same mistake. Last night, almost did.”

“Walter—”

“Realized something else, last night,” Rorschach moves his free hand out of his pocket to reach for his hat, taking it off and putting it on the end table next to Dan, “Tired of fighting a losing battle with purity.”

“What?”

“Daniel. Spilled blood for me.”

Rorschach grabs at the top of his mask and Dan’s eyes widen and he wants to open his mouth, tell him he doesn’t have to do this, but he is already too late. Rorschach tugs the latex off in one smooth motion. It ruffles his already curly hair as it goes, revealing a hard-looking but young face. He looks like he’s just a few years older than Dan himself, approaching his 30s now.

Rorschach— no, Walter, now, with his latex skin peeled away— looks away, blue eyes averted from Dan’s own gaze on him. His hair is a more vivid shade of red-orange than the stubble Dan has already gotten used to seeing, and if Dan’s honest, it suits him. He has bright blue eyes in a severe face. His nose has probably been broken one too many times and his lips are pursed. He’s ugly, Dan thinks, and very beautiful both at once.

Dan squeezes at his elbow, feels his tongue flick over his lips. “You know you didn’t have to.”

“Wanted to,” Walter replies, quiet, voice hard. He finally looks up at Dan, and there is a terrible self-consciousness there. His mouth quirks just barely. “See now why I wear a mask, Daniel.”

“Don’t say that,” Dan scolds, surging out of the chair. The sudden movement pulls at his stitches but he doesn’t even care. The pain is still dull thanks to the aspirin he took earlier. He puts his other hand on Walter’s arm as well, holding him loosely. “Walter—”

He makes a noise in the back of his throat. “Prefer Rorschach.”

“Okay. Okay, yeah, um, I can do that. Yeah.”

They’re left staring at each other as words fail them both. Rorschach’s mask is still clenched in his fist so Dan slides his hand down from his arm to curl around his wrist. He leans forward, pressing his other hand to the curve of Rorschach’s neck. He sweeps his thumb over Rorschach’s adam’s apple, feels warm when it bobs as Rorschach swallows.

Dan leans into him, feels something like wonder when Rorschach shakily breathes, warm over his lips. He feels dizzy with anticipation as Walter stares up at him, hard blue eyes, a nervousness well hidden in them, and his mouth slightly open. There’s a warm pink flush rising on his pale skin, highlighting his freckles. And suddenly Dan’s mouth is dry and he’s desperately wondering if redheads really do have freckles everywhere—

“Rorschach,” he says, and it comes out low and breathless, needy.

Rorschach makes a choked noise in the back of his own throat in response, feeding off that energy.

“Daniel,” he huffs back, voice sounding like something wrecked already. He shoves his mask back into his coat pockets before fisting both of his hands in Dan’s shirt. “Want—” Flick of a pink tongue over chapped lips. “Don’t know what I want.  _Daniel_ ,” he groans and tugs on his shirt, voice hot and low, “Want it anyway.”

“You can have anything,” Dan hears himself say, the words tumbling out of his mouth, inanely adoring and desperate. “Whatever you want.”

Rorschach keens, scratches teeth along Dan’s neck, and  _oh_ , that’s the warm press of him against Dan’s thigh, heavy and hard and hot even through the layers of his trench coat and pinstripes. He ruts against his leg shakily, growling.

Dan’s patting at Rorschach’s hair, groaning at the smell of clean soap and a hint of cologne,  _his_ cologne when Rorschach shifts against him again. “Fuck, Rorschach.”

He nips Dan’s throat roughly, as though punishing. He pushes at Dan lightly, trying to get him to sit back down. Dan stumbles backwards, tugging Rorschach with him as he falls back onto the couch. Rorschach shifts to straddle his lap, knotting his fingers into Dan’s hair. Dan’s about to laugh, giddy, when Rorschach tugs on his hair, forcing his head back. He hovers just bare breaths away from Dan, eyes hard and intent. Dan wets his lips, feels his heart thudding in his throat, and thinks about asking Rorschach if he’s finally going to kiss him.

“Say please,” Rorschach breathes, his voice quiet, wrecked, as he tries to keep it even and steady like he’s still in control.

“Please—”

Rorschach kisses like he fights. He crushes his mouth against Dan, all desperation and need, no technique at all. But the hands in Dan’s shirt relax to smooth over his chest, holding his palm steady over Dan’s heart which can’t decide if it wants to stop or sprint. Rorschach suddenly slows, scratching his teeth over Dan’s lower lip before soothing his tongue over it. Uncharacteristically soft for such a hard man.

Dan tries to bite back from laughing with relief at the realization: Rorschach has always been soft— constantly punishing himself for wanting because he thought he was too cold, too full of violence to deserve good things. But he wants to be soft, doesn’t he?

He fights a losing battle at keeping his laughter in, the sound bubbling up from his stomach as he wheezes against Rorschach’s mouth. Rorschach jerks, startled, and Dan kisses him again before he can get the wrong idea about all of this. He’s feeling bold so he slips his hands beneath his trench coat to grab Rorschach’s ass and tugs him closer, grinning when Rorschach makes a choked, scandalized noise.

“Hey,” Dan says, squeezing his ass and nosing at his stubbled jaw. “I’m gonna ask something else you won’t like: was that your first kiss?”

Rorschach scowls, squirms against his grip. He steadies his hands now on Dan’s arms, shoving backwards. “Making fun of—”

“No, no, no,” Dan can’t stop grinning, feels giddy and heat-drunk off of this, “Just want to make sure I’m your first kiss. I’m a bit possessive, you know.”

Rorschach stares at him, disbelieving before he must recognize the honesty in Dan’s eyes. He looks away as a warm flush starts to surface on his pale cheeks. “No shame,” he mutters, mouth turned down in a scowl.

Dan kneads his ass and grins when Rorschach jerks again, startled. “Guilty as charged,” he murmurs, sucking a kiss along the back curve of his neck, where it meets his jaw.

He knows he’s being bold but Rorschach would’ve pushed his hands off of him already or said something if he wasn’t comfortable with it. He noses at his jaw, enjoying the rough prickle of stubble against his skin. He feels a little manic with energy when he turns his mouth up to kiss Rorschach again and finds no resistance. This kiss is better now that they’ve been able to orient themselves. Rorschach lets him take the lead with a slow pace. Dan groans when Rorschach’s fingers scrabble to curl against his cheek, warm against his skin, holding Dan in place as he tentatively kisses back. He licks at his mouth and hums, pleased, when Rorschach opens his mouth after a moment of hesitation. Dan curls his tongue against his and shivers when Rorschach makes a choked, breathless noise in response.

“Walter,” Dan groans. He presses his forehead to Rorschach’s own, and feels fond when he realizes Rorschach’s eyes are still closed as he catches his own breath. “Lay down for me.”

Rorschach huffs and shoves at Dan’s arms. Dan grins and lets go of his ass to let the man stand up and shuck his trench coat off before getting back on the couch, back against the arm rest. He has his arms folded across his chest and his brow is furrowed, blue eyes nervous as he watches Dan. Dan rubs a hand against his leg and presses a kiss to his knee.

“You can change your mind, you know, if you don’t want to do this.”

Rorschach huffs, closing his eyes. “Daniel. Don’t make me ask again.”

“Don’t recall you asking in the first place,” Dan says, not unkindly.

Rorschach kicks at his side lightly, a low snarl in his throat that stutters into a choked gasp when Dan palms his hands over his waist. Dan grins, smoothes his thumbs over the dip of the v in his hips, reveling in the way Rorschach twitches just barely under him, blue eyes still hard and bright. He’s hard in his pants, but Dan keeps his hands on his hips, steadying.

“Hey,” he says, keeping his voice soft, “You with me? We do this if you want to.”

Rorschach turns his face away just barely and brings an arm up defensively. Dan can still spy the flush rising on his pale cheeks through the gap in his arm. “Have wanted to. For a long time now.”

Dan can’t help the shiver, the shaky laugh that escapes his mouth. “Can I touch you?”

“Hh. Waiting for permission, Daniel?”

“Yes, that’s how these things work.”

He knows it’s not the way Rorschach has seen these things happen growing up.

Rorschach makes a rough noise in the back of his throat, grabs one of Dan’s hands on his hips and pushes it to press over his cock, still hard under his trousers. He hisses when Dan squeezes lightly, hips jerking. It occurs to Dan, hazily, that this is his first time touching Rorschach properly.

Dan shivers a little as he keeps his touches slow but firm, grinding his palm over his cock while Rorschach tries to bite back strangled noises. He leans up and kisses him, groans when he feels Rorschach twitch underneath him, trying and failing to keep his hips still. He nips at his bottom lip as he pulls away and grins as he squeezes his cock firmly. He revels in the way Rorschach’s back arches sharply and the startled moan that slips out. He sucks messy kisses along his jaw, dragging teeth through stubble and nipping along the pale skin of his neck. Dan knows Rorschach won’t want him to leave hickeys where they’ll be visible, so he keeps his biting light.

He squeezes his cock roughly before moving both his hands up to pull his trench coat open. He’s only wearing a tank top on underneath today so Dan shoves the cloth up until it’s bunched under his armpits. Rorschach stays surprisingly docile, still panting and squirming, cheeks flushed high with color. Dan trails his fingers over pale skin, humming. It’s different to look at Rorschach like this, laid bare for him to admire instead of just to stitch up. He recognizes most of the scars, the gash in his side he stitched up just a month or so ago. He scrapes a nail along the trail of hair on his navel, feeling warm and pleased when Rorschach squirms under his scrutiny. He presses a kiss to the flat of his stomach and grins when he feels the flex of muscles beneath his skin against his mouth. He nips at his waist and hips, looking up at Rorschach from beneath his lashes while he unbuttons Rorschach's pants.

He growls, the twist of his mouth embarrassed, and he looks away. Dan huffs a soft laugh, nuzzling along the waistband of his boxers now.

"Can I?"

"Hhnk." Rorschach sounds choked. He throws his arm over his face and sucks in a deep breath. "Daniel."

"I need to make sure you're good with this."

“Am good.” Rorschach nudges him with his knee roughly.

Dan grins. He tugs his boxers down slowly, flushing warm as Rorschach’s cock comes into view. He is uncircumcised, and it looks weird to him, but he’s no less eager to try and touch him. He shoves his boxers down to mid-thigh before closing his hand loosely around his cock, shivering when Rorschach lets out a strangled whine. He pumps his hand loosely, thumb sweeping along the flared edge of his foreskin, biting his lip when Rorschach makes another strangled sound, hips jerking into his grip.

“Good?”

Rorschach makes a quiet noise in the back of his throat, turning his face into his arm elbow to better hide it. “Daniel, I—” He trails off into a low groan when Dan slips his tongue under his foreskin. “Have done this before. With other men—”

“Hey, hey, shhh.” Dan pets at his thighs, soothing. “Not with other guys. But I may have practiced… with toys.” He ducks his head as a light flush rises up his cheeks.

A pause, and then, “ _Filthy_ ,” Rorschach hisses, but the way his hips twitch as he says it betrays his true feelings.

Dan bites back a grin. He is admittedly new to the real thing, but he finds it no less thrilling to feel the way Rorschach twitches in his mouth, how the muscles in his thighs and stomach jump when Dan rolls his tongue along the underside. He tastes clean, like soap, and smells faintly of Dan’s cologne along the waistband of his boxers, perhaps from getting dressed. He works his mouth down while pumping his hand loosely along the base. Rorschach’s hips are still twitching and he has one hand fisted by his side, the other arm still held securely over his face.

Dan is struck with immense fondness, biting back a chuckle as he pulls off. He nuzzles at his cock, tonguing along the exposed cockhead as he keeps squeezing his cock lightly.

“So good, Rorschach, you’re being so good.” His voice sounds rough and wrecked to his own ears. “Love how you feel in my hand,” he says, reverent.

Rorschach sucks in a sharp breath, hips jerking hard, and then a gasping whine as he comes, warm against Dan’s cheek and jaw.

“Oh.”

Dan sucks his cockhead down, tonguing the slit as he finishes, swallowing around him until Rorschach bucks his hips and tugs at his hair, voice choked, calling his name.

“Daniel,” he growls, and it is quiet and devastated. “Ah.”

Dan crawls up, bracing his hands on either side of Rorschach’s chest. He must look like something terrible, he thinks, judging by the expression Rorschach has staring at him. He can still feel cum warm along his jaw, and grins, licking his lips.

“Cat got your tongue?”

Rorschach growls again, this time sounding more like himself. His face is still flushed bright red, highlighting the freckles speckled across his cheeks, but his eyes are defiant. He pushes his hand into Dan’s sweatpants and Dan forgets what other teasing comment he was about to make. His hand is warm and smooth against his cock, stroking roughly. He’s always been good at this, Dan thinks, dropping his forehead to rest in the curve of his neck and shoulder. They fall into a quiet rhythm, Dan gasping and moaning as he thrusts his hips into Rorschach’s grip.

“Daniel.”

Dan shudders, hips jerking as Rorschach keeps rubbing his thumb over his slit, teasing. He lifts his head up to messily kiss Rorschach, pleased when the man jolts against him in surprise before kissing back tentatively. He rolls the pad of his thumb along the underside of his cockhead and hisses “Daniel” against his lips and Dan is coming with a choked moan into Rorschach’s mouth.

He collapses on top of his partner, huffing an exhausted chuckle when Rorschach makes a vague noise of displeasure.

“C’mon, let me rest, I might have reopened my bullet wound from that.”

“Dirty,” he complains.

“We can worry about that later.”

Dan squawks when he feels Rorschach wipe his hand dry on his sweater.  
  
  
  
~*~  
  
  
  
Things don’t really change much, actually.

They still do the same Dan and Rorschach things, but it means Dan gets to kiss Rorschach— gets to kiss him in the rain, hallowed by neon lights, gets to kiss him on rooftops, with the smell of ozone in the air and the hum of Archie in the backdrop, gets to kiss him in the quiet space and time between the dark of night and the morning light, in the doorway to Dan’s workshop, with his hands in Rorschach’s hair.

And in the spaces between their shared breaths, Dan finds that for all their imperfections, they are allowed this softness, this goodness, in their lives.


End file.
